


A Unexpected Visit

by Saraste



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarves in the Shire, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other, The Author Regrets Nothing, braiding, shirehusbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Bilbo and Thorin get some unexpected quests for Bilbo's birthday.





	A Unexpected Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hobbit Day 2019.
> 
> Originally intended to be a oneshot but then it developed PLOT.

Bilbo had just settled onto a nice spread of second breakfast – including a cake, as it was his birthday – when there was a loud knock on the door just at the very second he was putting a piece of lovely cake (buttercream icing on top and raspberry jam between the layers of moistened sponge) into his mouth. He was instantly reminded of another meal that had been interrupted thus and hope it was just a neighbour who would go away quickly and leave him in peace to indulge his breakfast and Thorin. (Although first breakfast had been missed due to Thorin indulging in him.) It wasn’t visiting hour, so whoever it was shouldn’t stay too long

‘I’ll go, love,’ Thorin offered, ‘just finish that cake.’

Bilbo sighed and patted the hand Thorin had reached over to grasp his shoulder reassuringly. ‘No, it’s better that I go. Remember the last time you went to answer the door?’

*

Thorin sighed and grimaced. Going on five years and some hobbits still had not gotten used to the dwarf whom Mad Bilbo Baggins had brought back from his travels, even though they all did now address him as Mister Baggins-Oakenshield, not Mister Dwarf, which was progress. Thorin would never admit it, but he was very pleased to be addressed as Baggins-Oakenshield, despite them not having made a declaration of commitment to each other the hobbit way. They were of course married in the ways of Thorin’s people, braided in blood in fact, and their lives thus intertwined like the strands of hair in their braids, and solid like the beads Thorin had crafted for them. And Bilbo had always referred to him as Thorin _ , my husband,  _ whenever they came across a hobbit Thorin did not know _ . _

Bilbo had already gotten up and was going to the hallway and answer the door when Thorin shook himself from his thoughts. He rose to follow, mostly to help speed whomever had come to their doorstep to hasten their way away so he could further pamper his hobbit in private on his birthday, as was his right as Bilbo’s husband.

The door opened and Bilbo said ‘Oh!’ There joy in his voice was mixed with surprise and a touch of exasperation and Thorin hastened his step to…

Fíli and Kíli stood side by side on the doorstep dressed in traveling cloaks. Both were beaming, hale and hearty, eyes bright and not a braid out of place. There couldn’t have been a more welcome surprise.

Thorin was stunned to silence, but not so Bilbo, who threw his arms around the two young dwarves who were his nephews in braid as well as heart. ‘My dear boys! What a wonderful birthday surprise! I’ve missed you’

The pair lifted Bilbo off his feet as embraced him back, both congratulating him and telling him how much heavier he had gotten, being back in the Shire.

Eventually, they put him back down, and turned to look at Thorin, who had kept away, at a loss of what to say.

Fili spoke first. ‘Uncle!’ And there was an embrace for Thorin as well, and then Kíli was joining in, too. And Thorin held them tight, letting go of something he hadn’t realized he was still hanging on to and in seeing them again opening his heart up for worrying once more.

He greeted at both of them in turn, cupping their faces between his palms and pressing his forehead to theirs. ‘Welcome to our home, you look well.’ He knew it wasn’t enough, but what else could he say? There was a good reason he’d left the kingship to Dís and they all knew why he had chosen a simple life in the Shire with Bilbo, there was no need to put more words into it than had already been said. And his gestures said that which couldn’t be said, regardless, spoke of his regret and the love and yearning he had for all that he had left behind, if willingly. Yet, there were things he could say and which should be said, and willingly and gladly. ‘I have missed you as well, my dear nephews.’

Fíli grasped his forearm and Thorin grasped him back in a warrior’s greeting. ‘You look good as well, uncle, I do not think I can remember you looking this happy since we were pebblings.’

‘Yes, what have you been doing with him, uncle-Bilbo?’ put in Kíli, always having to stir things up that didn’t need stirring.

‘Well, this and that, especially providing him with good food, the rest is our own business and no concern of yours,’ Bilbo replied tartly, blushing just a bit, which Thorin always found adorable.

Kíli giggled.

‘And I see you come with companions,’ Bilbo then commented, nodding with his head.

Only now did Thorin look towards the gate, where three ponies and a horse stood next to a tall elf and… Ori?

‘You thought I’d be allowed all the way here without my darling wife with me to keep me in check?’ Kíli said, his voice full of admiration and affection when he said  _ wife _ .

Thorin fought his sigh, so his nephew  _ had _ braided the elf. There had been some confusion on his part on if he had or not when he’d left with Bilbo, and no mention in any of the correspondence he’d been keeping up with Dís. The lad did wear the braids with pride, as did Fíli, but he had known about that already.

‘And I couldn’t leave a beauty such as Ori to fend for himself, someone might think to try and charm him to unbraid himself from me and braid himself for them,’ Fíli said, ‘not that Ori ever would, but I didn’t want to have the hassle of dealing with the reparations over broken bones and bruised pride when I got back.’

There was admiration and affection in Fíli’s voice too as he spoke about his spouse. Both had chosen well, for which Thorin was glad.

Bilbo had advanced to the gate and was gesturing at the elf, Tauriel, her name was Tauriel, and Ori, but speaking so low that Thorin didn’t catch what he said, but assumed her was giving instructions to stable the mounts at the Green Dragon, possibly.

But…

Bilbo walked back. ‘I’ll better go with them to see to the ponies and the horse, just in case.’ He pecked a kiss to Thorin’s cheek. ‘Can you put the kettle on and take out more ham and bread to feed this lot? And do please all go inside from the doorway, I’m sorry about my lack of manners, very rude of me!’

Their nephews were quick to shake their heads and protest, praising Bilbo to be the very epitome of politeness and that they had never known such a welcome as in his house. They did walk over the threshold, but strangely enough neither made a move to close the door.

Thorin moved past them to Bilbo still on the porch and wound his big palm around the back of Bilbo’s neck and pressed his forehead to his. ‘Of course, beloved. And maybe some eggs and sausages as well?’

Bilbo laid his hand at the nape of Thorin’s neck as well and smiled. ‘Of course, and what ever else you think would be needed to feed four hungry dwarves and an elf.’ Then he was off.

Thorin looked after him with a sense of foreboding beginning to creep up on him and he was so discombobulated that he didn’t think to close the door but remained staring at the odd retreating group, who seemed to have struck a lively discussion.

Only a pack being hefted onto the hallway floor made him turn and look at his nephews, Kíli looking apologetic at having nearly thrown his pack down.

‘What news of the mountain?’ he asked even when he wanted to demand, to yell  _ what are you not telling me? _ Dís couldn’t be dead, they would have had the braids and a raven surely would have come by now, as the journey would have taken them all summer.

Kíli squirmed and then tried to hide it. He was still so young, too young to have come along to the Quest and too young for whatever was wrong now. Although Thorin had been younger when… no, he would not sully this moment with even stray thoughts of Azanulbizar, that was done and finished and lamented. Those memories had been shared once under the roof of his new home during a night when he’d woken to a screaming nightmare, and would not be spoken about again.

Fíli put a hand on his brothers’ shoulder and squeezed. The he spoke because Kíli apparently wouldn’t, or maybe couldn’t. ‘It’s about Tauriel.’

And then Kíli did speak, his head snapping up from his preoccupation with the pretty woven hallway-rug. ‘We have done nothing wrong,’ he said. Had he shouted it would have sounded less haunting, but his low, even tone, so unlike Kíli and clearly showing the strain of his restraint in the way it shook but minutely, belied his emotion.

Something was clearly badly wrong.

‘I’m sure you haven’t,’ he made himself say, pushing aside his misgivings and deeply rooted prejudices, for had he not also found love outside his race and so could not judge, ‘I will not doubt your love. She is your wife, and what I remember of her, she’s strong-willed enough that she must have known her own mind in the matter.’

Kíli huffed. ‘It’s not that. Me braiding her was fine, as I’m not the heir.’ He dug a friendly jab to Fíli’s side, to which he responded to with a playful slap, ever the  _ dignified _ heir to the throne. There was a brief scuffle and they settled.

Thorin pinched at his brow and stared at the open door, the little pathway down the porch through the front garden and the gate, beyond which was the road where a few perfectly respectable looking hobbit women with baskets on their arms were trying to look like they weren’t eavesdropping. ‘We’d best close the door before you continue, such a discussion is best not continued in the doorway.’ There were faint sounds of dismay as he closed the door and he rebuked himself for not having closed it sooner. ‘And take off your boots or Bilbo will scold you, don’t think that he won’t, he’s a very tidy person.’

His nephews looked down at his feet and two sets of eyebrows went up at the sight of his feet in a pair of knitted woollen socks, as it had been a bit chilly in the morning, being September. But they didn’t make a fuss, Kili even leaving his exceedingly muddy boots outside the door to be brushed later after they had gotten all the talking and eating dealt with.

And just as Kíli was moving in the doorway, a stray stream of sunshine caught in a bead in his hair and Thorin was stunned.

There was a braid in Kíli’s hair that was hidden under the free-flowing mass, not in pride of place like the ones declaring his love and commitment to his wife, his belonging and his family connections. Thorin only saw it when Kíli brushed his hair away from his face straightening up in the doorway as the light caught on it.

When he realized what the braid was for Thorin’s hand jerked to touch even when he knew he shouldn’t and he made a strangled gasp. But… he didn’t understand, surely, if things were like that, they couldn’t have been traveling. Had something unspeakable happened to prompt a leave from the mountain? Something that made a braid unbraidable on account of grief, of the comfort hanging onto might bring even when what it represented had been lost.

Kíli had frozen in the doorway, looking at Thorin with badly disguised panic across his face, quickly but gently pushing the revealing braid away, possibly hoping that out of sight might be out of mind and Thorin wouldn’t ask. Nonchalance had never been Kíli’s great skill.

‘What is that?’ Thorin asked, hoping to sound soft and kind, knowing he came out as too sharp and demanding.

‘Nothing!’ Kíli patted his hair back into the wild nearly braidless mess it had been, stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him before making towards the kitchen. ‘Did uncle-Bilbo say something about cake?’ His voice was too high.

He made to go right by Thorin but he shot out a hand to stop him. Kíli’s arm trembled under his touch. There was a sound of metal against leather from behind him and it made Thorin regret even more all the ways he in which he had hurt his nephews in his madness.

‘That was not nothing.’ He spoke kindly and gently but firmly turned Kíli to face him.

‘Uncle Thorin…’ Fíli said and there was… could it be hesitation?

But they had come all this way. Surely one did not travel months to seek help from someone they did not trust? He eased his grip but did not allow Kíli to seek diversion in food. Hobbits, Thorin had discovered, often discussed important things over a meal or at the very least several cups of tea, but it was not the way of his kind. He longed for a smoke, to sit side by side with his nephews on the bench outside the front door and talk this through. But he knew he couldn’t have that, because if this was such a delicate matter as he thought it was, then it was best that they talk about it inside behind closed doors and avoid any gossips, who were even now flocking near Bag End, stirred by the arrival of their nephews and their spouses.

Fíli had shifted nearer and Thorin couldn’t look at him for fear of what he might see, because if he could avoid a bad memory, he would.

He made his voice as gentle as he could make it, he had to be calm, and his nephews, especially Kíli did not deserve to have him offer them distrust and suspicion when they had come all the way here for help. ‘ _ Please, Kíli, trust me with this _ ,’ he said in Khûzdul which, while not impossible, was harder to lie with. He let go of Kíli’s arm.

Kíli looked at him and in that moment became the adult that Thorin had sometimes feared he might never have the chance to become. Kíli parted his dark hair and drew out the braid Thorin had glimpsed and held it out so the pattern could not be mistaken, nor the beads, one with Kíli’s personal insignia and one with what must be his wife’s.

Thorin was glad he’d not done the unthinkable and touched it, in so doing adding to the bad luck there already seemed to be attached to what should be a happy occasion except…

‘But you are traveling,’ he said, a little stupidly and despite having witnessed that there was more than one way to carry on a family line.

‘Tauriel is an elf,’ Kíli said, in a way he clearly thought explained everything, crossing his arms across his chest for emphasis.

They stared at one another. Neither said anything. A big part of Thorin was resisting thinking about how elves procreated, especially because it included Kíli engaging in... marital duties. Thorin might have blushed.

Fíli spoke. ‘Uncle, you  _ do _ know that not everyone carves their pebblings? Surely you have seen that hobbits do not, having lived here for years now.’ And his voice was light and without strain.

Thorin looked at Fíli and the sight of him, hands loose on his hips and a smirk on his lips, was nothing to incite bad memories Thorin would do his best to avoid. He looked back at where Kíli remained in a confrontational stance across from him, not putting away his braid, a braid he should have worn with pride where everyone could see, so others could share in his happiness and blessings. A braid he was hiding for reasons unknown but easily guessed, among them some too horrid to contemplate.

‘I know,’ Thorin said, ‘please don’t look at me like that, Kíli, I’m not disapproving.’

And now Kíli sounded like a pebbling himself, worried over something trifling to an adult, but momentous to a pebbling. ‘You’re not?’

‘My dearest is a hobbit. I know that there exists more than one way to live one’s life, even when I would prefer to not hear any details attached to the process, you _are_ my nephew after all and some things are better kept between a couple.’ He smiled and hoped it did not look to awkward on his face because he was embarrassed. Switching to Khûzdul, he said: ‘_I’m happy for you._ _May the blessing of Mahal shield your little pebbling from all harm.’_

There was silence for a moment and Kíli appeared more than a little misty-eyed. Then he embraced Thorin and the wetness was more pronounced and seeped into Thorin’s beard. ‘Thank you, uncle,’ was still audible even when mumbled.

Thorin patted his back and found Fíli looking at him with an approving eye. There was sadness on Fíli’s face too, and there was clearly more to the situation than merely the fact that Kíli’s wife was… what did they call it again… with child. Thorin could guess even when he might not want to think about it and his heart grew weary with the thinking of it. All he had ever wanted for his nephews was for them be allowed to live happy lives in peace. At the moment, that did not seem to be the case for Kíli.

‘Well,’ Thorin said eventually, after Kíli’s tears seemed to have dried up and his nephew was drawing away from him, ‘I better go and put the kettle or Bilbo will scold me and call me a horrible forgetful dwarf. And you must be hungry for something besides waybread.’

Kíli was wiping his eyes. ‘Starved!’ There was brightness in him again, though dampened, but he grinned happily when Fíli began dragging him towards the larder to fill up the spread already on the table.

Thorin looked behind them for a moment, foreboding filling his heart. He had come here for Bilbo, for peace and a quiet ordinary life, had welcomed it and taken it even with all the little snags that had come with it. Now it seemed that there was trouble brewing again and life would not be the same for either him nor Bilbo, possibly not even for the good people in Hobbiton.

Sighing, he went and put the kettle on.


End file.
